"All as we could wish, all as we could wish!" cried Rochester,
entering a room in Northampton House, in which the Countess of Essex
sat with her mother, Lady Suffolk. "We have the great majority of the
judges, delegates. In a few days the decree of nullity will be
pronounced, and we need not care a pin for that rank puritan, Abbot,
or the Bishop of London. They are the only two who hold out, for Ely
and Coventry have yielded to the King's arguments."
Lady Essex cast herself into his arms, with her face radiant with joy;
and the shameless Countess of Suffolk rose and congratulated the lover
of her criminal daughter, with as many expressions of satisfaction as
if he were about to raise her to a station of honour and fame.
"Get them to sign the decree quickly, Rochester," she said; "Abbott is
a powerful man, and the see of Canterbury has no light authority. He
may bring some of the rest over again; and it is as well to have as
many on our side as possible."
"There is no fear, there is no fear," replied Rochester. "They have
pledged themselves to the King, and cannot go back. Nevertheless, be
you assured, dear lady, I will lose no time. What I most fear is from
that villain, Overbury. He has written me this day a most insolent and
threatening letter; and he may make mischief."
"I wonder," said Lady Suffolk, in a jesting tone, "if there be no butts
of Malmsey now in that same Tower of London? But come, I will go and
tell Northampton of your good news. He is as eager in the business as
any of us."
"Not as I am," answered Rochester, casting himself into a seat by the
side of his paramour. "There I defy him."
"But what says your dear good friend, Sir Thomas Overbury?" asked Lady
Essex. "My mother is right, Rochester: we want Malmsey butt!"
"It were not safe," answered her lover, looking down; "the man may
drive me to punish him as he deserves; but how, is the question?"
"Oh, by a thousand means," answered the Countess.
"But what does he say, what does he say, Robert? let me see. Have you
got the letter with you?"
"Yes, here it is," answered Rochester; "a sweet composition, in truth,
and one which shows that he and I are henceforth sworn enemies. One or
the other must perish, that is clear."
"Let it be him, sweet Rochester, let it be him," said the Countess,
taking the letter, and running her eye over the contents.
"What says the villain?" she exclaimed, at length, with her face
burning as she read aloud some portions of Overbury's letter. "--'You
and I will come to public trial before all the friends I have?--They
shall know what words have passed betwixt us heretofore?--I have
wrote the story betwixt you and me from the first hour to this
day!'--Rochester, there is no time to be lost! He brings it on his own
head.--Let him take the consequences."
"But how? but how?" cried Rochester.
"How?" asked the Countess. "Is he not in the Tower?--Is not my father
Lord High Chamberlain?--Are you not a Privy Councillor?--Will the King
refuse you anything you ask in reason?--Rochester, Rochester! means
are not difficult if you will be firm. But place a secure man as
Lieutenant of the Tower, and leave the rest to me. What! would you
have yourself overthrown by a worm--by a viper?--Will you leave a
snake to sting you, when, by one stroke of your heel, you can tread it
into nothing? You have done all you have done, more than could be
expected, to avoid the necessity he forces on you. You offered him
rank, station, and high employment! He refused them all, and his own
obstinacy sent him to the Tower. Now he would charge and calumniate
you, knowing right well, that slander always leaves part of its venom
behind, whatever antidote we apply. He gives you no choice, he forces
you to declare that he or you must perish."
"It is but too true," replied Rochester, gazing on the ground somewhat
gloomily; "and yet I would to Heaven he did not force me to deal with
him harshly."
"Ay, but he does," exclaimed the Countess. "Tell me, if two men are in
a sinking boat that will but bear one, has not the strongest every
right to cast the other into the sea, and save himself?"
She paused for an answer, and her lover replied, "I think he has; but
still he may regret to do it."
"True," said Lady Essex, "true; and so do I, and so do you. But if
that man were an enemy, who had brought him there only to take his
life? He who weakly stands in fear of a man he can destroy, deserves
the fate that he spares the other. Had he been content to bear, even
for some short time, with meekness and forbearance, the punishment he
has called down on his own head, he might have lived on in peace, for
aught you would have said or I have done against him. But now,
Rochester," she added, laying her fair and beautiful hand upon his
arm, and speaking in a low but emphatic tone, "but now, he must die!
Do you mark me?--He must die! It is not hate that makes me speak; we
could have afforded to hate him, and yet let him live. I practise
nought against the life of Essex, though Heaven knows I have hated him
enough. But to dread is different--to live in continual fear of what a
fellow being may say--to know that our secrets are at the mercy of an
enemy--to see him strive to curb us at his will, like a groom upon a
managed horse, because he has got the bridle of fear between our jaws,
is not an existence to be tolerated for an hour. Fling me, I say, such
a rider to the dust and break his neck, or you are not half a man.
This letter, this base and insolent letter, is his death-warrant!" And
she struck it with the back of her fingers, with all the passion and
vehemence of her nature. "He has signed it with his own hand," she
added. "It is his own deed! and as he has planted the tree, so let him
eat the fruit."
"But the means! but the means!" cried Rochester. "Where shall we find
the means?--Remember, such deeds leave marks behind them that may
condemn us. Cold judges will not weigh the provocation, but only the
act; will not think of how he drove us to destroy him, but punish us
for his destruction. The King himself will suffer no private revenge;
remember the case of Sanquhar, where no prayers or entreaties would
move him."
"Ay, but remember, also," said the Countess, "that he was hated--you
are loved. James smiled when he signed Sanquhar's warrant. Know you
not why he looked so pleased? Was not Sanquhar a friend of that famous
King of France, who so eclipsed the pale light of the Scottish Star,
that he looked like Orion beside one of the little twinkling Pleiades?
Did not Sanquhar stand by, unmoved by aught but laughter, when Henry
vented a keen jest upon the birth of this British Solomon; and James
paid him well. Him he detested; you he adores.--Who does not that
knows you, Rochester?--And if this be so managed that no mighty hubbub
is made about it, I will undertake the King shall aid you to conceal
it, rather than punish you for an act most necessary. Besides, if I
judge right, there may be things within the scope of your knowledge
that this great monarch would not have told. I counsel you not to make
him dread you; for that is too perilous. Show him all devotion, and
there is no fear of his becoming an enemy to one who is so much his
friend. Then, as for the rest, lend me your power, and I will give you
the means. I will away, with all speed, to a certain serviceable woman
whom I know, who will afford me good counsel as to what is to be done.
But I must put off this gay apparel; and if you will be here to
supper, I will have news for you. Hark! I hear my mother coming, with
my good Lord Northampton. He shall lend me his barge; and I will
away."
"Let me go with you," said Rochester.
"What, in these fine feathers?" cried the Countess, laughing as
lightly as if her errand were but some pleasant scheme of momentary
diversion. "No, no, most noble Lord, that would betray all. Another
time you shall. Fair sir," she continued, turning to the Earl of
Northampton, as he entered, "I beseech you, as your poor kinswoman and
dependant, to lend me your lordship's barge for a short time. I have a
secret expedition to the city, to visit a certain goldsmith, who must
not know me, lest he charge his workmanship too dear. You will not
deny me?"
She spoke in a gay and mocking tone, calculated to discover rather
than to conceal the fact, that she had some more important scheme to
execute than that which she gave out; and the Earl of Northampton
replied at once: "It, as all else that I possess, fair lady, is at
your devotion. Stay; I must order it."
"Nay, nay," said the Countess, "I will do so as I pass through the
ante-room. Show him the letter, Rochester, and ask him simply what
that man deserves who wrote it."
Thus saying, she left the room, and Rochester placed the letter of Sir
Thomas Overbury in the hands of the Lord Northampton, who had by this
time become his chief friend and adviser at the Court. The Earl read
it twice, and then returning it, said, in a marked tone, "Death!--A
man," he added, "who can betray the secrets confided to him is the
worst sort of traitor; but he who can use them to intimidate another,
is lower than the common cut-purse upon the highway. Were this man out
of prison, I should say--call him into some quiet corner of the Park,
and draw your sword. As it is, I cannot so well advise you."
The Countess of Suffolk made Rochester a sign not to continue the
subject; and in; a few minutes more Lady Essex re-appeared, masked,
and habited with great simplicity.
"Now," she exclaimed, addressing Rochester, "you may have the honour
of handing me to the barge, or, if you like it better, may accompany
me till I land near the bridge, and wait for me, like a humble slave,
till I re-embark; for I will have no pert lover prying into where I
go."
Thus saying, she gave him her hand, and the Earl of Northampton,
smiling as benignly on their criminal attachment as the Countess of
Suffolk had done, conducted them to a door leading into the gardens,
where he left them to pursue their way to the private stairs, which
were then attached to all the great houses that lined the bank of the
Thames, from Whitehall to the City.
Rochester and the Countess proceeded through the gardens, toying and
jesting as they went, and then seated themselves in the barge, which
speedily bore them down nearly to London Bridge. There the lady left
her lover, and, followed by two men, entered upon the narrow streets
of the metropolis, which she threaded till she reached the well-known
house of Mrs. Turner. She paused in the little court, and sent up one
of the men to see if the respectable lady she came to visit was at
home, and alone.
"Say, a lady wishes to see her," said the Countess. "Mind, sirrah,
give no names--merely a lady."
"I know, my Lady," replied the man, who had accompanied his mistress
more than once upon a similar errand; and entering the door, which
stood open, he soon came back with tidings that good Mrs. Turner was
within, and disengaged.
"Bless me, my Lady!" exclaimed Mrs. Turner, as soon as she saw the
Countess, "I have not had the honour of a visit for I don't know how
long; but I see that all has gone well with you. You could not look so
fresh and so beautiful if you were not happy; though beautiful enough
you were always, even, when you were in the state of misery from which
I had some little share in relieving you."
"Thanks, thanks, Mrs. Turner," replied the Countess, "the relief is
not quite complete; but I think it will be soon. However, I have
another business on hand, perhaps more important still. See that there
is no one in that room, and lock the door."
"Oh, there is no one, I am sure, my Lady," said Mrs. Turner. "I take
good care against eaves-droppers; but you shall see." And opening the
door, which led to an inner chamber, she displayed a bedroom fitted up
in a style of luxury which would have shamed a palace.
She then locked a door which led from it to a back staircase; and
tripping back on the tips of her toes, she sat down opposite to Lady
Essex, saying, "Now, sweet lady, you see there is no one there; and,
if there be anything in all the world that I can do to serve you, I am
ready. I am sure, it is quite a pleasure to do anything for so great
and generous a person."
"That is all nonsense, Turner," replied the Countess; "what I have to
do now, cannot be a pleasure to any one concerned; but it is forced
upon me. Tell me, you who have such skilful means of gratifying hearts
that love, have you not means of satisfying hate, as well?"
"Really, my lady, I don't know what you mean," said Mrs. Turner. "You
must speak clearly; and I will give you a clear answer."
"Pshaw," cried the Countess, impatiently; "half of your trade, woman,
is to understand at a mere hint. Tell me, if you had an enemy, one
that you dreaded, one that rendered it necessary for your safety that
he should be removed, could you not find means--without much apparent
dealing with him--to free yourself from your danger, and from his
enmity?"
Mrs. Turner gazed silently in her face, for a moment, and then, in a
voice sunk to a whisper, asked, "Is it my lord your husband?"
"He!" cried the Countess, with a scoff. "But I have no husband," she
added, the moment after; "if you mean the Earl of Essex, poor
creature, my hate ceased as soon as he ceased to trouble me. The idle
bond between us will be soon snapped by the fingers of law; and
henceforward I care no more about him than about any of the thousands
who walk the streets of London, and whom I have never seen. No, no, it
is another, a much less person; for you might fear to put your fingers
in the peerage. But answer me my question. Were such your case, could
you not find means, I say?"
"Perhaps I could, my Lady," answered Mrs. Turner, in a grave tone.
"Perhaps I could."
"Then you must make my hatred yours," replied the Countess, "and work
against my enemies as if they were your own."
"That I will, madam, I am sure, with all my heart," answered her
worthy confederate. "But I must have help, my lady."
"You shall have such assistance as shall render all easy," replied the
Countess.
"Ay," rejoined Mrs. Turner; "but what I mean is, I cannot undertake
this thing alone. Good Doctor Foreman must give us assistance. I doubt
you would not like bloodshed?"
"No, no, no!" answered the Countess; "there must be no blood; nothing
to leave a trace of how the person died. Quietly and secretly, and yet
as speedily as may be."
"It will be difficult, madam," said Mrs. Turner; "a very difficult
thing indeed; for though one may get at their food so as to spice one
dish to their taste for ever, yet if it is to be slow poison----"
The Countess started, and her warm cheek turned somewhat pale. "Is
your Ladyship ill?" asked Mrs. Turner.
"No, no!" answered the Countess; "'twas the word poison. Often," she
added, slowly and thoughtfully, "we must make use of means we like not
to hear named, and the heart shrinks at a word that is most bold in
action. But it matters not;--poison--ay, poison!--So let it be!--Why
should the sound scare me?--Poison. Well, woman, what was it thou wert
saying?"
"Why, please you, my Lady, that if slow poison is to be used, we must
bribe some man who has constant access to the person, for it must be
given daily."
"None shall have access but yourself and those you send," replied the
Countess. "All food may pass through your hands--and yet I wish this
were not to be done. Would that it could be accomplished boldly and
openly, without such silent, secret dealings; but that is impossible
in this case."
"Oh dear, my Lady!" replied Mrs. Turner, in a soothing tone,--"you
need not distress yourself about it. You do not know how frequently
such things happen."
"Ay? Is it often done?" exclaimed the Countess.
"Daily, madam," said Mrs. Turner. "Many a rich old miser finds the way
to heaven by the tender love his heir bears to his money bags; many a
jealous husband troubles his lady's peace no more, after she has
learnt the secret of deliverance; many a wise man's secrets find a
quiet deposit in the churchyard, which otherwise might have been
noised abroad; many a poor girl, betrayed and wearied of, finds peace,
by the same hand that took it from her. But that's a shame, I say, and
such means should be only used against the strong and the dangerous."
The Countess smiled bitterly. "Yes!" she said, looking down, "there
are gradations even in such things as these; and dire necessity still
justifies the act that else were criminal. And so 'tis often done,
good Mrs. Turner? I have heard of it, but knew not it was frequent."
"Oh yes, my Lady," answered the fiend; "scarce a day--I am sure not a
week passes, without a stone being put up by mourning friends in
memory of those whom they would fain forget; and once the earth is
shovelled in, you know, it matters little how the dead man went. In
truth, to most men, 'tis a charity to cut them off from a few years of
sorrow. 'Tis a sad world, full of cares, my Lady; and I know that too,
poor creature as I am. Here they are pressing me hard for the rent of
my house; and where I am to get it I am sure I cannot tell."
"There!" said the Countess, throwing a purse upon the table; "and if
you skilfully accomplish that which is needed, you shall be rich."
The woman seized her hand to kiss it; but the Countess drew it away,
as if a serpent stung her. "Come, no foolery," she said. "You know I
pay well for services; but they must be rendered duly. I have told you
that this person shall be entirely in your power. You shall have every
opportunity to practise on him your skill. He shall be altogether in
your hands. Is there anything more you need?"
"Ha, ha, ha!" said Mrs. Turner, laughing with a low titter. "I thought
first it was a woman, till your ladyship said _he:_ for ladies have
not, in general, such enmities to men."
"My friendships are the friendships of my friends," cried the
Countess; "their hate my hate. 'Tis not that this man has injured me,
but he is dangerous to one I love. He must die! See you to the means.
I have heard that the late Queen Catherine, of France, was so well
served in cases such as these, that those whom she dreaded or
disliked, disappeared as if by magic. The smelling of a nosegay--a
pair of scented gloves--a cup of fragrant wine--would clear her Court
in a few hours of those who cumbered it."
"All tales! my Lady," replied Mrs. Turner; "except, perhaps, the wine.
I doubt not that she did deliver herself of enemies by such means, and
those the best, too, she could employ; but odours to kill, must be
strong scents, indeed; and, 'tis more like, some friendly valet helped
to season the soup of the good Monseigneur, than that he took the
poison by the nose. However, there is one thing I can say, that there
is no secret in the sciences with which my friend, good Doctor
Foreman, is unfurnished; and, moreover, that he will employ them all
to please your ladyship."
"Well, consult him, then," said Lady Essex; "let him know that his
reward is sure. Think you he has ever practised in this sort before?"
"I must not say that, my Lady," replied Mrs. Turner, with a shrewd
look; "but I know well, that in this country, and in many others, too,
he has served great men in various ways. Ay, kings and princes; and, I
suspect, their foes have had cause to know it, too. But he is as
secret as the grave, and never babbles of the things he has done."
"That is the man we want," said the Countess; "speak to him about the
matter, and let me know what he says."
"That I will, my Lady," answered Mrs. Turner. "But who is the
gentleman we have to deal with?"
"You shall know hereafter," replied Lady Essex: "what I have said, is
sufficient for the present."
"Nay, but dear lady," urged her infamous confederate, "I fear Dr.
Foreman may not like to engage in the matter without knowing who the
person is. I have no curiosity, for my part."
"Why should he hesitate?" demanded the Countess, sharply; "one man
must, to him, be the same as another, if what you have said of him be
true. The butcher asks not where the ox he slays was bred or fattened,
what green meadows fed it, from what streams it drank. The blow that
ends it is all he has to think of; and so let it be here."
"I doubt that will not satisfy him, my Lady," said Mrs. Turner; "there
are some great men he might not like to deal with--any of his kind
friends and patrons, would give him pain to injure. Perhaps this very
gentleman may have been favourable to him--may have employed him in
things of the same kind."
"'Tis not unlikely," answered the Countess, with a gloomy smile; "but,
if he have, he will employ him no farther. The walls of a prison are
round him, from which he will ne'er pass out alive. However, as your
friend cannot penetrate into the Tower, to tell the secret to him who
must die; and as he dare not, I think, betray it to any other, the man
is Sir Thomas Overbury;" and she fixed her beautiful eyes steadfastly
upon the countenance of Mrs. Turner, as if to read the effect which
her words produced upon the woman's mind.
It was not such as she expected; for the passion in her own heart gave
even her victim higher importance than he had possessed in the eyes of
others. "What! Sir Thomas Overbury!" exclaimed Mrs. Turner, in some
surprise; "the friend of my Lord of Rochester?"
"He _was_ his friend," replied the Countess, with marked emphasis;
"but now----"
She left the sentence unconcluded, and Mrs. Turner exclaimed, "Ah! I
see how it is; I understand it all, now! Such friends may become
dangerous, Lady. He may have secrets of my Lord of Rochester's, which
must not be betrayed; perhaps, some of the King's, too."
"Perhaps so," answered the Countess; "all we know, however, is, that
he lies a close prisoner in the Tower, by the King's own order; that
no man--except such as have licence from his Majesty himself--is
permitted to speak with him, on pain of high displeasure; and that it
were better for all parties that such things were brought to an end.
See to it, good Mrs. Turner, see to it! and come up to me at
Northampton House to-night at supper time. The Earl will then be in
the country; and you will find Lord Rochester and myself alone. If you
have seen this Doctor Foreman, then, you may bring him with you; and
so, farewell!"
Thus saying, the Countess left her, hurried to the barge, and seating
herself by her lover's side, was rowed back to Northampton House. But,
as she went, she vainly endeavoured to assume the light gaiety which
she had displayed as they came; for the terrible conversation which
she had just held with her instrument still cast its shadow upon her.
While the act was merely a matter of vague contemplation, she had felt
it but little; but, as with those who approach to climb a mountain,
which at a distance looked soft and easy of ascent, she found the task
more fearful than she had anticipated when she came to deal with the
details. Even her bold and resolute spirit felt oppressed with the
first steps to the terrible crime that was to be committed; the very
lowness and pettiness of the means to be employed had something
strangely horrible to her imagination which, she could not shake off.
She sat silent and gloomy then as the boat glided over the water; and
Rochester easily divined that preparations were already made for the
dark act they meditated.